


Brand New Day

by GaryTheFish



Series: Hope is a Four Letter Word [38]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Loki - Canon Divergence, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaryTheFish/pseuds/GaryTheFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm the present to your future<br/>You're the wound and I’m the suture<br/>You're the magnet to my pole<br/>I'm the devil in your soul</p><p>You're the crop to my rotation<br/>You're the sum of my equation<br/>I'm the answer to your question<br/>If you follow my suggestion</p><p>We can turn this ship around<br/>We'll go up instead of down<br/>You're the pan and I'm the handle<br/>You're the flame and I'm the candle</p><p>Starting up a brand new day</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A faint knock on the door, and Loki looked up from where he was packing up books and photos. Expecting Parker or Tony, Loki was surprised when Bruce poked his head around the jamb.

“Busy?” asked the other man, taking in the organized chaos of the room.

“Not really,” Loki admitted, loading a final box onto the metal cart near his desk. “Just killing time, I think.”

Bruce gave a knowing smile. “And when does she land?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Well, yeah, but I can blame it on Parker, if you’d like. Good kid. Kind of chatty, but smart as hell, so it makes up for it. Pretty observant, too, as it turns out.”

“Horrifyingly so,” Loki agreed. They exchanged smirks, and Banner made himself comfortable on the couch near the window. Loki gave up his halfhearted attempts at sorting his desk and flopped into his office chair, spinning it gently. “So what brings you here?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing much.”

“Party doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

A look of surprise, and then a chuckle from Banner; Loki grinned as he plucked an elegantly-designed invitation from the top box on the cart and handed it over. Bruce put on his glasses as he studied it.

“‘You are cordially invited to a surprise party to be held in your honor…’” he trailed off into laughter as he read the rest of the invitation. “Who sent you this?”

“Tony.”

“But isn’t he the one _throwing_ the surprise party?”

“Well, yes, but after much deliberation, he decided to forgo the surprise bit.”

“That’s... wise, I think. Did she also get one?”

Loki grinned. “Hers was even better. It looked like one of those helpful brochures they hand out at seminars. The topic was how to cope when the co-guest of honor is a jet-lagged introvert who hates surprises and can murder you from across the room without so much as spilling her beverage. It was _quite_ informative. Diagrams and everything.”

Banner handed back the invitation. “So when _does_ she land?”

A quick glance at his clock, though he didn’t need it. “Not for a few more hours. She signed the paperwork on the house yesterday, and then today she had some last minute meetings before her flight. Last I heard, though, everything was on schedule.”

“Which house did you end up going for?”

“The one by the wharf, though I guess they call it a flat over there. Fifteenth floor. She fell in love with the terrace.”

“And you still haven’t seen it?” A grin. “Now _that’s_ trust.”

“I suppose,” he agreed, “although she did give me a lovely tour via Skype and made absolutely certain the shower fixtures were tall enough. That part was non-negotiable.”

“So how much does Stark owe you now for missing not one, but _two_ trips to London with the woman of your dreams?”

“With the contract I just landed him?” Loki laughed as he stood. “Quite a pretty penny. Come on; let’s get some lunch before I go mad.”

***

_A shadow falls over Loki, and he knits his brows._

_“Good Lord,” comes Sam’s voice; the sun returns as he moves past. “Don’t you_ ever _tan?”_

_He pulls up his tank top in response, holding his forearm against a stomach infinitesimally whiter than the skin on his hands, and Sam laughs._

_“How long did that take you?”_

_Loki scoffs. “Days. Weeks, even, but I’m encouraged. Half of me was afraid I’d turn a sad sort of dusky blue.”_

_“That’s fair, I guess; I hate to tell you, though. Most people don’t sunbathe in a tank top. It kind of defeats the purpose.”_

_His shrug is casual. “Not really in it for the color,” he replies. “Just the warmth.”_

_There is a soft squeak as Sam sits on the lounge chair next to Loki’s. “Speaking of which,” he says slowly, “you ready for another go? I thought maybe if we tried during the day, it might not be so bad, but I also don’t want to ruin your party. Your call.”_

_He taps his fingers thoughtfully on his stomach, eyes still closed, and then he opens them and stands in one smooth motion. Shedding his tank top and dropping it on the lounge chair, he walks to the deep end of the pool. No sense in prolonging matters. Sam stands on the rim of stone surrounding the clear, warm water, watching as Loki barely pauses at the edge of the diving board before knifing into the water with barely a ripple._

_He hovers beneath the surface for a few seconds, adjusting to the muffled silence; he opens his eyes to see the blue water around him, flickering light dappling the pool’s sides. He cannot see the bottom clearly, so he surfaces. It is almost too rapid an ascent, which is likely not a good sign, but he presses on regardless._

_Following the steps he and Sam worked out on a previous attempt, he relaxes and allows his legs to come up until he floats with arms outstretched. The sun is warm on his face, and he lets the water lap around him, ears beneath the surface. He breathes evenly through his nose, and then there is a swirl of cold water around legs already going numb and a sudden darkness. He hears words but cannot understand them; he struggles to draw in arms that seem made of lead, water surges into his mouth, and then everything goes black._

_He comes to himself slowly, feeling the hot, scratchy cement beneath his back. Forcing his eyes open against the bright sun, he turns his head to see Sam, soaked to the bone as he shakes Loki’s shoulder. “Come on, man,” he is saying, voice soothing and firm. “Find your ground. It’s there. It’s right under you.”_

_Water courses along his chest and stomach, pooling around him on the stone, and at last he begins to breathe again. Sam’s hand goes to his mouth, probing gently at his newly-split lip, and he manages a smile that warps the puffy skin._

_“So another no on that experiment. No more aversion therapy for you. Sorry, man. I’m really sorry.”_

_“It’s just a ‘not yet’,” Loki replies slowly, feeling finally returning to his legs. “One thing at a time, I suppose. Can’t solve everything at once, right? Or so you keep telling me. Who knows? Maybe it will solve itself. One day I’ll be able to stroll beneath the stars alone without wondering when they’re going to vanish, and I won’t even notice. Two years from now I’ll be able to swim like a fish again without a thought. Isn’t that how it goes? I’m sorry about your face, though.”_

_“Sometimes, and it’s no big deal,” Sam says. “I’ve had worse. What were you yelling, anyway?”_

_Loki pushes to a sitting position with brows knit. “I thought that was you.”_

_“Nope; besides, last time I checked, only one of us knows Norse. Asgardian. Whatever it is you swear in when you’re not thinking about it.”_

_“I have no idea. What did it sound like?”_

_The sounds are foreign coming from Sam, and his pronunciation is amateur, at best, but Loki knows the meaning before the words have even completely left his lips. They are familiar enough that they still leave a sting._

Come back. Please.

_***_

A game of chicken gone wrong. That was their story, and both had it ready if either was asked why Sam was dodging through Stark Mansion in bare feet and soaking wet clothing. Loki’s path was easier; he merely went back into the changing rooms next to the pool area, dried off and put his regular clothing back on. The room was almost silent; the only noises were those he made himself, so he quickly dressed, tied his boots and made his way back to the more populated areas of the party.

A round of Pictionary had apparently just ended, and as Loki walked by to get something to drink, he glanced at the large easel set up near the end of the room. Parker nodded in greeting from his spot near the board, and Loki held up a bottle in reply. Another nod; he grabbed a second and headed over to the couch. He brushed his fingers along the back of Aeslin’s neck as she sat curled in a chair, putting the finishing touches on a sketch of what Loki was able to easily identify as the Arc de Triomphe. She smiled distractedly and kept working.

“Olympic diver,” Clint was saying as Loki dropped onto a chair of his own, and Parker shook his head.

“No. _No_.” Parker took the drink Loki handed him.

“Olympic diver.”

“No. That, my friend, is a potato drawn by a hamster coming off an apparently _terrifying_ acid trip. Poor little guy; he’s probably going to have flashbacks for years.”

Barton took the signed picture Aeslin handed him with a grin, putting it carefully in the folder perched on the edge of the table. “Thanks, panda bear,” he told her before turning back to Parker. “No use being so snippy about it. You could have called a tackle at any time. We could have solved it right then.”

Parker gestured to his face, where a newly-healed scar ran just below his chin. “Right. Because that worked out _so_ well last time.”

“What, _that_?” Barton said. “That’s nothing. Everybody’s got one of those, sport; it’s practically a rite of passage. You’re just a little late to the game.”

A scoff as Parker popped the top off his drink; he scooted quickly to one side as Natasha vaulted over the back of the couch and wedged herself between him and Clint.

“Besides,” Barton went on, “it’s not everyone who can say they busted their chin open on Captain America’s amazingly well-defined cheekbone. Count yourself lucky.”

“Seven stitches isn’t _lucky_ ,” Parker groused, “and that wasn’t even where I was aiming, which makes it _infinitely_ worse.”

Natasha clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Oh, _bednyy sladkiy rebenok_. However do you manage?”

Parker made a face back at her. “ _Beloruchka_.”

A deathly silence fell across the room; Natasha and Barton stared at him in shock. Suddenly, Nat’s face broke into a huge smile, and she smacked Parker’s open palm.

“I _knew_ it,” she told him proudly. “I knew you’d get it right eventually.” She gave him a canny look. “You been practicing?”

“Maybe.” Parker gave a slightly embarrassed shrug, and she leaned forward to give him a noisy kiss on the cheek, deliberately leaving a dark purple smear of lipstick.

“So proud,” she said as he scrubbed at the mark, and Clint laughed.

“They grow up so fast,” the archer agreed, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “Still a diver, though.”

“Still _not_.”

“Olympic. Diver.”

“Chthonic. Tuber.”

“Didn’t they play at Coachella?” Sam asked, strolling in with fresh clothes and carrying a tray of snacks.

“Not a band,” Aeslin replied, unfolding herself from her chair and moving to intercept him. He dodged with a grin before allowing her to snag a treat.

Wilson put the food on the table. “Should be. I’d buy the _hell_ out of their concert t-shirts.”

“More where that came from?” Parker asked, hopefully eyeing the rapidly-dwindling pile of snacks.

“Think so.”

“I’ll check.” Aeslin brushed her hands on her jeans and headed for the doorway Sam had just come through; Loki watched her go, the memory of the pool still fresh in his mind. He was on his feet almost before he realized it. The others glanced up, and he blinked.

“I’m just going to… there might… it might be heavy,” he finished lamely. Parker rolled his eyes; Natasha gave a quiet shooing motion, and then they returned to planning the next round of games while skeletonizing the plate of appetizers.

He caught up with her in the hallway; she turned at the last moment, walking backward in front of him. “Miss me already?” she said, lips curving slightly, and he took her hands, shrugging nonchalantly as he maneuvered her toward a wall.

“Maybe,” he teased, “but I’ll never admit it.”

He cut off any reply with a kiss, cupping the back of her head while his other hand went around her waist. Her lips were warm and pliant against his, and he deepened the kiss, dragging her closer like an anchor. He broke away after a long moment, burying his face in her neck. She combed her fingers through his hair.

“Something wrong?”

“Not anymore.”

She nudged him a little, and he sighed, his breath fanning her skin. “Sam and I tried the experiment again. Floating. We thought it would be different in daytime, thought it wouldn’t be so bad if the sun was out.”

“And?” Her voice was soothing, and he was sure she already knew the answer.

Another kiss. “Thought wrong. Everything still went away. I think it took longer this time, though. I’m hopeful, but that doesn’t mean I’m getting back in the pool by myself anytime soon, or venturing onto a beach alone at night. I’ll leave that to the experts.”

“Are you okay for the bonfire, at least?”

He grinned. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by the magnificent Xogs. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Pictionary scene inspired by a discussion with my collaborator, TheMoonlightAlchemist. 
> 
> bednyy sladkiy rebenok: (probably really poor) Russian: Poor sweet baby.  
> Beloruchka: woman who cannot cook or clean (an insult)
> 
> Feedback appreciated! Love you all! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony corrects a grievous error, and a new adventure begins.

They started the fire just before dusk. Tony had offered to have it going already, but Rogers had merely shaken his head with a grin and said it wasn't as much fun that way. Stark had made some crack about the good old days, about Steve cutting his own firewood and canning his own jam on top of everything else, and he'd earned a high-speed couch pillow to the face in retaliation. He'd raised his hands in surrender and led the way to a secluded spot of land where almost everything had already been set up. Chairs, blankets and tables clustered around a massive fire pit which held a skeleton of logs waiting to be kindled.

Rogers started the fire, and the others mingled and poked around at tables loaded with food.

“You're worse than my Italian grandma,” Barton finally said, and Wilson grinned as he glanced over the archer.

“Italian, huh?”

A shrug as Barton continued his perusal. “Hell if I actually know, so let's just assume for a second that she was. I mean, come on. Deep down, aren't all grandmas kind of Italian?”

Rhodes laughed as he chose his seat. “Got one better,” he said. “Creole. Man, that woman. Never met another like her.”

Barton chuckled in response. “Yeah, I can see that. So what is all this, Stark?”

“S'mores bar,” replied Stark as he staked out a spot upwind of the flames. “I think Pepper saw it on Pinterest or something. Good inspiration. I just improved on it.” A smirk. “You know, like most things.”

“'Pepper' saw it, huh?” Natasha asked, clearly noticing Rhodey's obvious head shake – the one he stopped the second Tony whirled to look at him; a wide, innocent smile instantly fell into place on the pilot's face, and Stark blew him a raspberry.

“How many types of s'mores does one person need, anyway?” Barton went on. “Honestly. This is crazy.”

“One,” came Roger's firm reply as he and Banner joined Clint in his exploration. “Marshmallows. Chocolate. Graham crackers. Just the way nature inten-”

“ _Blackberry_ curd.” Banner's voice was reverent. “Five kinds of chocolate. Are those coconut marshmallows? _Genius_.”

A laugh from Natasha. “Personalized toasting sticks? Oh, this is just getting ridiculous.” She rattled through the tall stand set up near the table. “Which one's mine?”

Tony gave her a look as he attached a footrest to his outdoor recliner. “ _Per_ sonalized,” he said slowly. “I'm pretty sure you'll figure it out.” He dodged aside; Clint's swipe with his own newly-found toasting stick went wide. Stark snorted. “Though why I _continue_ to give you people weapons is beyond me.”

“Self-preservation,” Wilson observed, choosing a stick with a deep green and white inlaid handle; the gold accents glinted in the growing firelight as he handed it to Parker after a brief study. The young man took it in surprise.

“Shout out to my alma mater, I see,” he said, running his fingers over the handle. “I thought for sure this one would be Loki's.”

Stark laughed, flopping into his chair as Natasha plucked the stick Sam threw her out of the air in an easy overhand catch. “I like to think outside the box,” Tony said. “Go for a little less than the obvious. Get the details right, you know?”

Natasha studied the handle of her roasting stick; dark metal surrounded an inlay of swirling black and deep purple, the colors barely discernible from each other in the glimmering light. “All right,” she said with a grin. “I'll take it.”

Steve pulled his from the rattling tangle. A spray of metallic stars fanned from the bottom of the red, white and blue handle. They waved gently as he quirked an eyebrow at Stark. “Less than obvious, huh?”

“Well, except when the opportunity is _just_ too good to pass up.”

The rest were distributed; Loki handed Aeslin hers, its handle wrapped in lapis lazuli. The gold veins caught the fire's glow, rivers in a night sky, and she nodded her thanks to Stark. Loki sat on the chair next to hers as he inspected his own. Plain silver on first glance, but as he looked closer, etchings became apparent in the metal. He studied them, then looked up at Stark with a question on his face.

“Not words,” the inventor replied. “They're natural markings. It's a meteorite.” He grinned as he took a sip from a tumbler at his elbow. “Catch a falling star.”

Loki smirked, rolling the smooth metal in his fingers. “Thank you.”

Tony saluted him casually with his glass, a smile on his own face. He pulled a small remote from his pocket, aiming it over his shoulder, and music flared from hidden speakers.

“All right, then, my fellow children of the night. Let's do this thing.”

***

“ _You've never had s'mores.”_

“ _Never once.”_

“ _Like nothing even close? Even since you got here? She's fired. Again. Sweet Basil on a brioche; she had one job._ One _. How has a man with your sweet tooth survived this long without s'mores?”_

_He laughs, holding his stick over the bed of coals Natasha has nestled in one corner of the fire pit, away from the rest of the inferno. “No idea.”_

“ _Two marshmallows,” Tony continues as Banner extinguishes the tiny conflagration that's bloomed on his own roaster with a firm puff of air. “Don't let anyone tell you different; anything less is a waste of good dessert. If you're going to do something, do it right. Which also means don't catch your marshmallows on fire. I mean, okay, I guess if brulee's your thing, but that-” here he gestures to Banner, who is sliding a charred mass of sugar onto the chocolate-covered cracker Steve is balancing for him - “_ that _is just a tragedy.”_

“ _T_ _akes one to know one,” Bruce says unapologetically, dropping raspberries onto the mess and smashing the whole thing together._

_Tony laughs. “And this is the thanks I get,” he sighs as Banner blows him a kiss and goes with Rogers to find a drink with which to wash his concoction down._

“ _It's always the quiet ones,” Natasha smiles, turning her marshmallows to make sure each side is an even tan._

 _A scoff. “Please. Bruce is_ hardly _quiet these days. I think we've ruined him.”_

_Loki pulls his roasting stick from the flames, two golden brown lumps of sugar dangling precariously from the end. Stark is there with graham crackers to carefully and ceremoniously slip them free._

“ _No,” Loki says as he takes his plate from Tony. “I don't think that's the word.”_

_***_

_The night grows deeper, their last night in Malibu, and Loki feels an odd nostalgia overtaking him. They have been here only a few months, but as he watches his companions – his friends – laughing, playing and dancing in the fitful glare of the dying fire, he feels a smile creep on to his face. His brother is not here to see this; Loki is almost sad about it, but it is only a faint sorrow mixed with a strange, fierce loyalty._

_Let Thor have his Warriors Three. Sif. Jane, though Loki doubts more and more each day that their relationship, tenuous as it truly is, will endure. At last, Loki has his own warriors. His own companions, and if his brother knew them first, for once it does not matter. They are his, and much as it surprises him to say, he is theirs in return. They are different from Thor's companions in their own subtle ways, though they are no less brash, no less taciturn, no less brilliant, and Loki would gladly trade a thousand of Sif, with her effortless confidence and pride, for a single glimpse of Aeslin bolting through the house at one in the morning in pursuit of inspiration, scrambling to sketch down her ideas in the seconds before she comes fully awake and forgets them completely._

_But the morning will come, if it hasn't already, and soon they will be scattered once more, this time across three states and two continents, even without missions thrown in. He glances over at Natasha, who has taken a break from the festivities and now sits in the chair between his and Tony's, scrolling through the photos of the flat that Aeslin and Loki have chosen in London. She whistles as she flips screens._

“ _Not too shabby,” she says with a grin, and Stark laughs._

“ _Pretty much,” he agrees. “Quite the upgrade from their current digs, wouldn't you say?”_

_Loki shakes his head. “No,” he assures him again. “Just different.”_

“ _I kid.” Stark leans back, kicking up the footrest and resting his hands on his stomach. “Besides, it was temporary housing. Much as I would love to keep you guys here forever, this was the plan from the get-go, and I've never been happier to be a springboard. The London office is going to_ adore _you.”_

“ _We've loved the house,” Loki admits, “and it's given us quite a list of things we very much didn't want to be without in the next one, so thank you for that; you're right, though. The house was ours, but it was also yours. This one is ours alone. It feels different somehow.”_

“ _As it should.” Natasha hands Loki's phone back. “Though you'd better be okay with visitors, because Clint and I_ love _that part of London, and he gets prickly if he can’t get back at least once a year.”_

“ _The door is always open,” he answers, and she laughs._

“ _Better make it a window,” she replies, finishing off her drink. “Old habits are hard to break, after all.”_

_***_

_She watches them occasionally throughout the evening, and a pattern begins to emerge. First it is Natasha, who perches herself in the chair between Loki and Tony and stays to chat for quite some time. Once she is gone, it is only a few moments before Steve has taken almost the same spot, laughing and joking while he idly toys with his roasting stick; its stars glitter as he occasionally gestures with it to emphasize a point._

_It is not that Stark and Loki are immobile. They have danced; they have played, and Loki even participated in the apparently newly-minted tradition of jumping the bonfire like an idiot. Clint had started that one; Steve had followed, and then Natasha had made the mistake of implying that Loki was above childish shenanigans and had openly dared him to take a turn. He'd kicked off his shoes nonchalantly, rolled up his sleeves and taken a running start. Two backflips with a double twisting layout and a stuck landing later, he'd bowed into the startled silence and sat back down with barely a hair of out place. Rhodey, open mouthed, had slapped a twenty into Parker’s open palm, and the night had continued._

A camera phone _, she'd thought in that second._ My kingdom for a camera phone and a repeat of that moment.

_Barton follows in Steve’s footsteps, and she realizes what she has been seeing all along._

_It is as though the others are petitioners approaching a king, though she would be hard-pressed to identify which is the king and which the advisor. As is his wont, Loki takes each in their turn, his focus entirely on the present, and even when he catches her eye across the fire and winks, it is barely a moment before he has turned back to Wilson, who has taken Barton’s place._

_It is nearly sunrise by the time they allow the fire to die out completely; they huddle in blankets against the early morning chill, each unwilling to make the first move and interrupt the moment. Finally, it is Stark who breaks the silence._

_“When does your plane leave?”_

_Loki’s voice is a hum against Aeslin’s back as he idly runs his hand up her arm and pulls her a tiny bit closer. “Too soon. We should be getting ready.”_

_“Happy’ll get you there on time. No worries. Overnight in New York, then?”_

_“Mmhmm. Pepper’s got us tickets to the Cloisters. She’s been talking about it for weeks.”_

_Tony grins. “She loves it there. I think it’s her happy place. Should probably get cleaned up, though. Don’t know if the other first class passengers would appreciate being trapped with a campfire at thirty thousand feet.”_

_“I suppose.” He nudges her gently, and she scoots forward with a sigh, slipping out of the warm cocoon of their blanket._

_Parker raises his head from Natasha’s shoulder, bleary from his catnap, and smiles. “Heading out so soon?”_

_Rogers stands, brushing off his jeans and tucking hands into his pockets. “Not until after coffee. Get going, you two. We’ll handle it from here.”_

_“Always the soldier,” Loki grins, and Rogers laughs._

_“You can take the guy out of the uniform,” he shrugs. “The other way around is a little more difficult.”_

_***_

They both slept for most of the flight to New York, and Pepper and her driver met them at the airport. They wandered the Cloister for a few hours, chatting with the docents and the other visitors. Aeslin got into an involved discussion about the building with a fellow student of architecture; Loki and Pepper took an impromptu second tour of the grounds, sipping drinks while they strolled behind the pair and listened to her rhapsodize about arches and flying buttresses. Pepper caught his bemused smile and gave him a grin of her own. She tapped the edge of her champagne flute on his arm. “Enjoying the views?”

“Absolutely,” he said, comfortable with Pepper in a way that he wasn’t with most of the others. Their friendship had grown over the past months, honed through long days at Stark Industries and what seemed to be endless hours prodding their respective mad scientists into focusing long enough to eat dinner, though Loki was almost as skilled as Aeslin at missing meals. He gestured around himself with his own mimosa. “The architecture isn’t bad, either.”

A laugh as she wound her arm through his, and he gave an answering chuckle. “It’s not often that I truly get to see her in her natural habitat. Hopefully it won’t be as rare in the future.”

“It’s good to see you happy,” she told him. “You had us worried there, for a moment.”

He smiled. “Me, too.”

***

The flight to London lasted over eight hours. They were prepared though, with books and music and games small enough to be played on their trays. He finished his move, then glanced out the window over her shoulder at the bright blue sky.

She turned over a card; he looked down and sighed as he realized he was going to lose this round, as well. He gathered his hand, getting ready to start again.

“Excited?” she asked instead, poking through her fruit cup.

He leaned back, stretching his legs as far as possible and feeling a large swell of gratitude for first class seating. “Very much so. I can’t wait to see the house in person. Our house.”

“Our home,” she corrected him easily, “or at least it will be soon enough. Don’t get me wrong. I loved the house in Malibu, just like you did, but this is ours. Not a loaner. Not someone else’s. Ours.”

He tapped his fruit cup against hers in a gentle toast. “To home,” he said, and she grinned.

“I like the sound of that.”

***

Neither had anything to declare at customs, and the process went smoother than Loki could have hoped for. He had a vague sort of fear that his passport would be questioned, or that somehow those who asked him about the purpose of his trip or checked his visa would know they were talking to a ghost. To a man who hadn’t existed before the previous August. He answered smoothly, cheerfully, and with a silent, massive sigh of relief when they finally waved him through. She stood waiting for him, foot propped on her carry-on bag and hands in her pockets. She flicked a speck of dust from his shirt, her voice quiet. “Breathe.”

“I’m breathing.”

“Calm?”

“I’m calm.”

“Good.” She said, taking his hand and pulling him along. “Hold onto that. You’re going to need it.”

“Need-”

“ _Kindle! Doctor Kindle!_ ” A rough bellow sounded over the milling crowd, and Loki’s head swiveled toward the noise. The man pushing through the mass of people meeting and greeting wore a scruffy beard and a battered jacket; he waved as he approached them. “Good lord above, let me have a look at you,” he said, and Loki suddenly realized that he wasn’t talking to Aeslin, but to _him_. The man Loki assumed could only be Simon grabbed him by the arms, taking him in at a glance. “Worse than I thought worse than I _thought_ dear _God_ in heaven, where did she find you?”

Loki looked helplessly at Aeslin as Claremont turned him around, still muttering. “No book in the back pocket, doesn’t mean anything, could be in your carry-on, and those _boots_. I knew it. I _knew_ it, dammit. So where did you meet? Museum? Poetry slam? Protest?”

Two could play at this game, Loki decided at last, and gave him a wolfish grin. “Prison.”

“You’re joking,” Claremont said; he stopped his inspection. “Right?” He looked at Aeslin, who gave a matching grin and stayed silent. “Brilliant. _Brilliant._ Oh, my boy. You’re going to fit _right_ in. Here.” He shoved what appeared to be an itinerary into Loki’s hand; it was scribbled with notes, maps and times and was almost completely illegible. Claremont tucked a hand under each of their arms, dragging them along with him.

“No time to waste,” he breezed. “Car’s waiting. Welcome to London, you two.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream so big and loud  
> I jumped so high I touched the clouds
> 
> I stretched my hands out to the sky  
> We danced with monsters through the night
> 
> I howled at the moon with friends  
> And then the sun came crashing in
> 
> But all the possibilities  
> No limits just epiphanies
> 
> I'm never gonna look back  
> Woah, never gonna give it up  
> No, just don't wake me now
> 
> This is gonna be the best day of my life
> 
> (lyric from "Best Day Of My Life" by American Authors)  
> (also beta read by the stupendous Xogs. <3 Feedback appreciated!)


End file.
